“My phone’s fine and I missed my connection. I’ve also met someone.” Lindsay explained the situation with Adrian and relayed the information from the business card. “I’m not worried. He just seems like the kind of guy who could use a little resistance. I don’t think he hears the word ‘no’ very often.”

“Probably not. Mitchell is like Howard Hughes.”

Her brows rose. “How so? Money, movies, starlets? All of the above?”

She assessed Adrian from the back, taking advantage of the opportunity to check him out while his attention was diverted. The rear view was as impressive as the front, revealing a powerful back and a luscious ass.

“If you sat still for more than five minutes, you might know this,” her father said.

God, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d read a magazine, and she had stopped paying for cable television years ago. She rented movies and shows by the season, because even commercials were a luxury she couldn’t make room for. “I can barely keep my own life straight, Dad. Where am I supposed to find time to pay attention to someone else’s?”

“You’re always poking into mine,” he teased.

“I know you. I love you. Celebrities? Not so much.”

“He’s not a celebrity. He actually guards his privacy pretty fiercely. He lives on some kind of compound in Orange County. I saw it on a television special once. It’s some sort of architectural wonder. Mitchell is similar to Hughes in that he’s a reclusive gazillionaire who likes planes. The media keeps tabs on him because the public has a fascination with aviators. They always have. And he’s supposedly attractive, but I can’t judge that sort of thing.”

And to think she’d picked him out of a crowd. “Thanks for the heads-up. I’ll call you when I get settled.”

“I know you can take care of yourself, but be careful.”